A Side, B Side: The Oblivion Within My Heart
by JMarieAllenPoe
Summary: AU! Two separate stories: A (Glee) and B (OC). Different setting, time, lives. Akin agony. Kurt's happy with only having his foster dad and best friend. He meets good people and people who add to his inner agony. Jack was 6 when his parents died. Now he's in the care of his sitter. But Bass is changing. And now all Jack has is pain. RATED M ONLY FOR VARIOUS TYPES OF ABUSE! NO SMUT!
1. Prologue: A Side & B Side

**A/N****: This is my first Fanfiction. Ever. So, hi! I'm JMarieAllenPoe. This is a Glee/Klaine Fanfiction. There are two Sides (Separate Stories) that alternate every other chapter. The "A Side" is the Glee story. The "B Side" is Jack's story (an OC's story [I don't know if there is already an official character named Jack on Glee yet, so if there is, this is not him; this is my original character]). I have not watched Glee in over a year, and I don't plan to ever again (the show just grew to be too terrible in my eyes - sorry); however, I still read the Glee fanfiction that I am following. I am not going to actually seek anymore Glee fanfics, unless you have great recommendations. I can't deal with the spoilers. So please, if anyone actually enjoys reading this, do not give me any spoilers. It is too painful, and this is an ****AU****! This whole fic is going to be an alternate universe; this is a fanfic that I have had stuck in my head for the past few months, despite the fact that I haven't actually WATCHED the show in a really long time. I think it is a really interesting idea.**

**I'm not gonna lie: most people will probably HATE this fic, or me, because I am bringing my own moral views into this. It's an AU for a REASON. I'm not religious at all, but that does not mean most people will agree with my opinions on underage drinking/drug use, underage sexual activity, etc.**** Some people will disagree with me, I am well aware of that, and I can respect that. So please respect that not everyone is the same and can have different opinions. I will have some of the characters have similar views to my own (I will go into specifics when the time comes), so please do not bash my imagination, considering this is an AU.**

**So, back to this fic. The A SIDE will be a completely separate story to the B SIDE. The reason I am writing them together is because they will share some similarities (i.e. songs that are mentioned, a character is in/was in a dark place, some characters share the same favorite movie, etc.). However, in the future I may develop a link between the two stories, I'm not sure yet; I probably won't. The Chapters will be set up like this: Prologue: A Side & B Side; A Side: Chapter One; B Side: Chapter Two; etc.**

**If you prefer to read one Side over the other, A Side will always be the odd numbered chapters (though according to Fanfiction, it is actually the even numbered chapters because the Prologue counts as a chapter) and B Side will be the even numbered chapters (technically odd numbers)...confusing, but you can keep track that way if you would like. :)**

**OK, enough stalling. Let's get to the fanfic.**

**Please review if you like this fic or have a question or comment, but please go easy on me, seeing how this is my first fanfic ever, but if you would like to give constructive criticism, that would be awesome. :) And sorry if there are any grammar errors. I'll try my best to catch them.**

**-JMarieAllenPoe**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing except for my original idea and Jack because he is my OC.**

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_**A Side/B Side: The Oblivion Within My Heart**_

**A Side: Prologue**

Sunlight streams passed the glass and navy curtains of a second story window into the bedroom of a young male. The grey alarm clock resting on a mahogany nightstand now reads: 8:13 AM, with the seconds ascending into the newest minute. Three of the walls within this quiet room are a Robin Egg blue. These walls are connected to the closet of the room, the bedroom door, and the large window, respectively. A wide, wooden bookshelf rests right underneath the window and has all the boy's favorite literary works, from Shakespeare's _King Lear_ to _An Imperial Affliction _to Jane Austen's _Pride and Prejudice_ to J. Marie's _Trigger Trilogy_ to _The Fault in Our Stars_ by John Green. Perhaps a hundred novels, plays, biographies, movies, and CD's by _My Chemical Romance, The Fray, The Beatles, _and many other Rock bands line the four shelves. The twin sized bed is in a corner of the room, against the wall with the door and perpendicular to the wall with the window. A desk sits along the wall with the closet and dresser, and a desk lamp along with a durable laptop, some notebooks, and a Christmas mug stuffed with pencils all rest on the head of the black wood. A dog calendar hangs from a hook above the boy's desk, the boxes crossed out in purple sharpie and today's date reading: Saturday, March 23, 2013. A leather book bag hangs from the doorknob. The floor of the room is completely carpeted in a soft, off white colorr.

The bedroom door is slightly ajar, and the faint creaking of nails on hardwood flooring can be heard in the distance, along with the clacking of pots and pans since the dishwasher appears to be getting unloaded.

A pillow hides the boy's sleeping face from view, and he breathes in and out rhythmically.

The fourth wall is a mural containing a mixture of blues, greens, indigos, violets, blacks and yellows to create a cityscape in the dead of night. The colors remind the boy of Van Gogh's famous "Starry Night" painting. Two outlets on the wall are painted perfectly to match the wall's chilling theme The mural takes up the whole wall, and a large dog bed is the sole item closest to that beautiful wall.

Suddenly, a mastiff, who on all fours is as high as the brass doorknob, nudges through the door and releases a loud bark of happiness upon seeing the form of his master in bed. He jumps on the bed and keeps barking, pushing the pillow aside and licking the boys face.

This has clearly awoken the boy, and he groans out, "UGH. . .Five more minutes, bud." The young male halfheartedly attempts to shove the dog aside, but the mastiff is persistent in rising his master and continues with his slobbery kisses. The mastiff's legs are moving around the bed, which cause the boy a feeling of slight discomfort, and the boy gives in.

"Okay, okay. I'm up! I'm up! Hiero! Hiero!" The boy laughs. He sits up more, and the mastiff gets off the bed and sits next to the nightstand instead, staring at his master with hunter-green eyes.

The young male pushes his bed sheets towards the wall and takes a slow, deep breath of air. His disheveled chestnut-brown hair sticks out in odd angles atop his head, the color accenting the paleness of his skin. He moves his legs towards the edge of his bed and reaches for the prosthetic propped up against the nightstand. Hiero nudges the contraption closer to the teen so he can reach it. The boy rolls up the left pant leg of his sweat pants and stares at the stump that cuts off at his knee. He breathes deeply once more and secures the stump into the cup of the prosthetic. He gingerly stands and grabs his android from next to the alarm clock. He checks the time. 8:20 AM.

The sixteen-year-old moves to his dresser and squats to open the needed drawers. He grabs a pair of boxers, a white sock, loose dark blue jeans, a _My Chemical Romance_ graphic tee and a white sweatshirt. He changes in four minutes and puts on his tennis shoes, making sure the shoe for the prosthetic is nice and tight.

He crosses the room to his desk and sits in the leather chair. He opens the top drawer and withdraws his hand once a neon green leash is in his grip. Hiro trots over and allows the male to attach the thin material to his matching neon collar. "C'mon, bud."

The boy stands again, and his dog follows him out of the room happily and to the other end of the hallway where they descend down the flight of stairs; he can feel the lump of his phone within his sweatshirt's pocket. The boy smells eggs and bacon when he enters the kitchen after going through the living room. He smiles when he sees his father wearing a purple apron and flipping a pan of eggs at the island. The bald man in his forties looks up and smiles at his adopted son.

The teen goes to the pantry to retrieve the dog food but notices Hiero's bowl already full. He lets go of the leash, and the massive mastiff dashes for the silver bowl on the floor. He goes to the fridge and gets out the carton of pulp free orange juice. He pours two glasses and sets one on the opposite end of the table that is meant for a maximum of four individuals.

The boy sits at the table and waits for his food to be ready. "Morning . . ."

"Good morning, kiddo. Sleep well?" the brunette's father asks while he divides the eggs and bacon onto two large plates. He sets one plate in front of the boy and takes his own seat.

"I guess so," the boy answers in a soft voice. He yawns. His father smiles, and the two begin eating their breakfast in a comfortable silence, the only noise being Hiero munching on his food or licking at his water dish.

Twenty minutes go by, and the food has been devoured, the plates have been put in the dishwasher, and the boy has already brushed his teeth. His father sits in the living room, watching an old football game while reading the day's newspaper. The boy has the dog's leash in hand and goes to the front door.

He yells to makes sure his father can hear his raspy voice, "Burt, I'm taking Hiero for a walk. We'll be back in an hour." As he closes the heavy door with a slam, he makes out the sound of his father responding.

"Sure thing, Kurt."

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**B Side: Prologue**

An old, brass school bell rings all throughout the playground, signalling the end of recess and allowing the children to be welcomed back inside and out of the bitter December snow. Most kids, bundled up in puffy winter ware to be protected from the cruel New York weather, are huddled together, chatting with friends as they go in lines back to their respective classrooms. One small child, however, is alone at the back of a line, not speaking to anyone. He is content to stay quiet and sing Christmas songs under his breath, never being the center of attention. He and his classmates stop at their lockers and take about four minutes putting away their wet winter coats, snow pants, gloves and boots.

The quiet boy smiles at the nice teachers who pass by while he struggles to stuff all his items into his locker. A small, rectangular mirror sticks to the inside of the boy's locker and he peers at his reflection: messy brown locks of hair, white skin, ice blue eyes, a face that has a long way to go before it starts losing baby fat. His mama says he is very pretty and that makes the boy happy. He slams the metal door shut and grins wider at the sight of his name tag, a bright orange pumpkin with _Jack Skinner_ printed clearly in a woman's penmanship. He was lucky and did not have to share a locker with any of his classmates this year because his locker partner, Alex Something-or-Other, Jack could not remember his name, moved away after the school year's first week was over.

A blonde women calls for her kids to return to their classroom, so Jack ventures a bit further down the hall to a door lined with funny school-themed cartoons and enters the first grade classroom marked by his teacher's name, Ms. Perry. She married just this past August and still needs to change the name tag. All of her students call her by Ms. Perry, despite the wedding ring on her finger. She was a pretty woman who loved teaching children, her secret favorite student this year was Jack because he always paid attention, got very good scores and never got into trouble. She found the six-year-old to be very pleasant. Jack was nice to everyone, but Ms. Perry noticed no one ever played with him, so she made it her mission to be extra kind and alert to Jack if there was something troubling him.

There never was, though, Jack was just a quiet kid who enjoyed reading and homework over having other kids destroy his colorful block towers and being pushed down at recess. He liked sitting at home with his mama and papa while they sat under the warmth of a quilt and watched _Tim Burton's The Nightmare Before Christmas_. It was his absolute favorite movie, especially since he was named Jack, after the protagonist of the movie: Jack Skellington, the Pumpkin King of Halloween Town. He loved the songs. His parents had showed Jack the movie the day before Halloween, and he fell in love with the story.

When the clock above the whiteboard reads 12:50 PM, Ms. Perry was just about to start handing out another math packet to the first graders to allow them to work on more addition and subtraction, when a tall, skinny male, who appears to be in his late teens or possible early to mid-twenties, abruptly knocks on the already open door. His styled brown hair and fashionable clothes catch the teacher's attention, but what worries her is the clear distress she sees on the male's face. She has Briana, a girl who usually talks in class when she shouldn't but is still a good kid, pass out the packets for her.

Ms. Perry approaches the young man and notices that he had just been running, if his slight panting is any indication. Her voice takes on a cautioned tune as she says, "Sir…?'

His eyes quickly scan the children in the room until they stop on one child. The man points to a boy who is already working on the math packet without any helpful instruction. "Jack," he gasps, "Ms.- Ms.-" the man quickly peers at the woman's name tag on the other side of the door, "Ms. Perry, I need to see Jack ri-right away. His parents..."

The sound of his name being said catches Jack's attention, and he looks up. His face lights up with glee. "Bass!" he yells before hopping up from his chair and running to the male. He hugs the man's left leg and laughs. "What are you doing here, Bass?" Ms. Perry looks at the older male quizzically.

"I'm Bass Smith," he explains, rushed, "I'm Jack's babysitter and a family friend. There was an accident. I need to take Jack to the hospital right away." Ms. Perry nods and crouches next to Jack.

"Jack, you are going to go with Mr. Smith for the rest of the day, so please go collect your work." She smiles at the confused child. Jack runs to his seat and does as he is told. Bass leaves the room and comes back thirty seconds later with all of Jack's winter clothes and his red backpack.

Bass picks up the small six-year-old and runs as fast as he can out of Elinor Grey Elementary School without dropping anything that is in his arms, be it the boy's belongings or the boy. In two minutes, Bass has Jack strapped in to the back seat of his Mercedes-Benz and is driving two miles over the speed limit towards Forest Hills Hospital.

"Bass?" Jack tentatively asks, realizing his best friend is under great stress. "What's going on?"

The nineteen year old looks in the rearview mirror back at the small brunette. "Your parents are gone, Jackie."

"Where are they?" he asks, not understanding that vague statement. The green-eyed male can't find a voice to respond with, so he turns on the radio instead. Bass tries to blink the tears from his eyes because he can't cry while he is driving.

A month from now, Jack will be an orphan, his babysitter forced to be his legal guardian for a decade. To see his parents again, he'll have to search his mind for memories that are fading too quickly and stare at photographs for hours to make sure he does not forget their faces. And this is only the start of his pain, his inner agony.

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**A/N: So...anyone enjoy that? I have a lot planned for this story. If so please review! :) ****Oh and, by the way, "Bass" is pronounced like the fish, not the instrument.**

"**J. Marie's Trigger Trilogy" is a reference to the trilogy I am writing that I hope to publish someday.**

**-JMarieAllenPoe**


	2. Chapter One: A Side

**A/N****: Here is Chapter One of A Side! :) It will probably take me much longer to update than this, because I need to focus on school. This is the first A Side Chapter; there is no B Side section-that will be Chapter Two. Also something really important: A Side is currently set during Season One, before "Theatrical," but all of the events/conversations concerning Kurt and the Glee Club/members have never happened. To the Glee Club, Kurt is another faceless student.**

**Happy Reading!**

**- JMarieAllenPoe**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing EXCEPT for my OCs and the sonnet at the beginning; I do not own the quote from John Green's **_**The Fault in Our Stars**_**, just a legally bought copy of the wonderful novel. Please do not plagiarise me.**

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_**A Side, B Side: The Oblivion Within My Heart**_

**Chapter One: A Side**

"_A time shall come when all of us are dead._

_The Earth will discard every human's life._

_What we've done now: unbuilt, unknown, unsaid._

_Our blood will not survive this destined strife._

_For who remembers slavery's dark, dim chains,_

_Sir Shakespeare's tragic works, or even you,_

_When all is lost and not a soul remains?_

_Reflections of life only say _adieu.

'_Fore Lethe came to view, there was an age;_

_And Age of Darkness will await behind._

_If faulted stars do not destroy Earth's stage,_

_Yet you think this cannot be, you're blind._

_Ignoring fear and our own race's end_

_Is needed and, on it, we must depend."_

Kurt stops and leans against the wooden podium set up in Mrs. Valentine's Creative Writing classroom, taking a long deep breath in trying to calm his stuttering heartbeat. The nine other students clap genuinely in response to his poem. Kurt forces a grin and moves from the podium to the women's desk on the other end of the room to hand in his sheet of printer paper that has his homework assignment, an Elizabethan sonnet, showing his long-sleeve green button down and loose jeans, the left pant leg hiding most of the silver prosthetic from view.

"Thank you, Kurt," Mrs. Valentine vocalizes. "That was very good." Kurt nods politely. "What is it called again?"

"'The Inevitability of Human Oblivion,'" Kurt whispers slowly in his hoarse voice.

His shoes squeak when he turns around, and - due to shaky legs - he almost trips on the way back to his desk in the front row, closest to the door, but he is able to grab a kind blonde girl's desk before he can fall flat on his face. The senior loosely grips his arm, asking if he is all right. Concern colors her eyes more than the real cerulean waters. Kurt nods twice, twin splotches of red staining his pale cheeks. He goes to his chair and slumps back without a word, glances at the digital clock inserted high on the wall - 8:50 AM-twenty more minutes of first period.

Mrs. Valentine looks at all ten of her students, recognizing, not for the first time, that Kurt is the youngest in the class, being the sole sophomore in the room. It is almost April, and the school year is nearing its end.

She calls for the next student on her list to go up and read their sonnet: "Emily, you're up."

Kurt leans over the leather, old-fashioned backpack at his feet and pulls out _The Fault In Our Stars_, resting the hard cover novel in his lap, glad to feel the presence of a favorite, familiar piece of literature. It helps to calm his mind.

* * *

Splish. Splish. Splish. Splish.

_It's raining. Again._

Splish. Splish. Splish. Splish.

_He is alone. Always alone. Forevermore alone. Forlorn. Forgotten._

Splish. Splish. Splish. Splish.

* * *

Metal banging against metal, friendly chatter, and random arguments are the only sounds Kurt can make out as he treads from Mrs. Valentine's classroom on the third floor to the library a flight of stairs below. He tries his best to stay glued to the wall on his right in an attempt to not be completely pummeled by the ludicrous teenagers he is forced to go to school with. It is still a struggle, and he almost completely falls down the crowded staircase twice, but he manages to arrive at the library in five minutes. He finds the empty table in the corner that is mostly hidden by bookshelves and is in view of the librarian's desk. Kurt takes a seat, making sure the back of his chosen chair is facing nothing but the white wall behind him, thus he will be able to quickly see anything or anyone who comes towards him. Now he knows he's safe.

He pulls out his laptop, purple pencil-case, and his Algebra 2B notebook. Every other sophomore in the building is doing Algebra 1, not 2, but Kurt gladly took Algebra 1 online over the summer so he is a grade ahead in math. It's nice being away from barbaric people who still manage to struggle with subjects that are taught to sixth graders. Kurt rolls his eyes at today's society. While he is typing in the website for two of his four online classes, he sees Mr. Ray Gregory, the kind librarian in his thirties, who is finishing up his reading of the John Green novel - _Will Grayson, Will Grayson _- that was co-written with David Levithan.

Kurt remembers his own copy of the book residing on his bookshelf back home along with his other hundred favorite reads. He'll probably read it again this weekend, after _An Imperial Affliction._ The young brunette yawns, wishing he could stay home this Monday morning and play with Hiero.

The dark-haired librarian looks up from the novel in his hands, his grey eyes catching Kurt's own colorful eyes - the iris being a navy blue on the outer edge and gradually moving from teal to green as the color travels closer to the pupil, specks of gold being thrown in among the explosion of color - both Burt and Ray suggest heterochromia - and waves happily. Kurt raises his left hand above his laptop in greeting and logs into his account for his online classes: hummelk16. He starts his Algebra 2B lesson on "Rational Exponents" and is glad to see that, even though he is only required to be 70% done with the course at this current date and time, he is 87% done. He works on the vocabulary, which only takes two minutes, jotting down the definitions in his spiral green notebook, and spends twenty minutes taking notes on the Direct Instruction section of the lesson. He works through other "assignments" during his seventy-minute period, tasks that mostly do not affect his percentage in the class, and is content to work alone with zero distractions. He looks at the time displayed in the bottom corner of his screen after he finishes the Lab Assessment: 10:20. He can hear lockers slamming and large bursts of communication occurring in the hallways. Second period is over. Kurt gets up and stretches, placing his arms behind his head and leaning left and right. He takes out _The Fault in Our Stars_, reclaims his hard chair, and flips to pages 12 and 13, running his right index finger under one of his many favorite quotes from the author, the novel and the main character, Hazel Grace:

"'There will come a time,' I said, 'when all of us are dead. All of us. There will come a time when there are no human beings remaining to remember that anyone ever existed or that our species ever did anything. There will be no one left to remember Aristotle or Cleopatra, let alone you. Everything that we did and built and wrote and thought and discovered will be forgotten and all of this' - I gestured encompassingly - 'will have been for naught. Maybe that time is coming soon and maybe it is millions of years away, but even if we survive the collapses of our sun, we will not survive forever. There was a time before organisms experienced consciousness, and there will be time after. And if the inevitability of human oblivion worries you, I encourage you to ignore it. God knows that's what everyone else does."

This quote was the inspiration for his sonnet, and Kurt fully agrees with these 146 words printed on parts of two pages. The boy breathes in deeply through his nose and pats his prosthetic, missing Hiero as always. Kurt begins his Physics B course and does similar tasks for another seventy minutes, bored, but happy to be getting work done.

At 11:46, he takes out his plastic bag of lunch and walks over to Mr. Gregory's desk, snagging a nearby wheelie chair on his way. Kurt positions the chair on the side of the faculty member's desk and plops down. He kicks his prosthetic without any serious force against the wood and begins consuming his meal: a water bottle and a small, plastic bag of Cheerios. Kurt doesn't eat much at school. Foot steps pad against the carpet, and Kurt turns his head to see the charismatic librarian; Mr. Gregory, having spent the last hour rearranging books students had messed with, sighs as he takes his seat and pulls out his bottle of fruit juice and cold slice of pepperoni pizza, occasionally eating his lunch while he types and updates things Kurt does not care to gain a full understanding of.

Ray pauses his typing to look Kurt in the eye, smiling a bit. "So, Oblivion, how's Online going for ya'?" Kurt barely turns up a corner of his mouth. The nickname comes from his love of _The Fault in Our Stars_ and his complete agreement with the quote that inspired his poem. He sees the doodling notepad Ray uses when he is bored and the library is empty - which is mostly all day because, despite the fact Kurt spends five of his seven hours of school in this vast space of books, the sixteen year old mostly focuses on his work and does not want to bother the librarian - and starts writing on the crisp paper, chuckling at the crudely drawn sketch of a stick figure male proposing to his stick figure girlfriend:

_It's OK...I'm at least 10% ahead in both Algebra and Physics,_

_and I have A's in both of those still. AP Lit and APUSH are going_

_good. I have an A- in both of those, so they are actually a whole_

_letter grade above that, an A+-, if you will...since it's AP. :P __:)_

The librarian sighs, "Not talkative today, eh?" After reading the words, he gives Kurt a gentle, but still enthusiastic, high-five. "That's really good!" Kurt only nods.

He took English 9 in 8th grade and English 10 as a freshman, so he was allowed the option of either English 11 or AP Literature and Composition this year. He's taking that class and AP U.S. History - hence the acronym APUSH - online. McKinley does not actually offer any AP classes; however, Mr. Gregory persuaded Figgins to let Kurt take the college level classes online through two of his Michigan friends who teach the classes in the UP. Kurt is very grateful. Ray had Mr. Kiss, the APUSH teacher, mail Kurt the required textbooks and will fly down with his wife in the end of May to visit Ray and see Kurt's APUSH exam. The AP Lit teacher, Ms. Campbell, just emails Kurt his assignments and has him send them to her via Google Doc. If Kurt remembers correctly, Ray and some woman in a tracksuit on the faculty blackmailed Principle Figgins to allow this and pay the two teachers for their kindness in taking on the extra student in Lima, Ohio. It's all rather confusing.

Kurt picks up _Will Grayson, Will Grayson_ and sees the Post-It-note-bookmark is at the back of the inside cover. He smiles and taps the book in a silent question the librarian knows all too well. "Yeah, it was good...those two guys. Just wow." Kurt laughs breathlessly and dumps the novel in the desk's built-in TURN IN bin. He writes on the pad of paper once more:

_I'll bring __An Imperial Affliction__ for you tomorrow_.

_You haven't read that one yet, right?_

"Nope." Ray pops out the _P_. "I'm looking forward to it: another, no doubt brilliant, Kurt Hummel Suggestion." The man winks, and Kurt slaps his arm good-naturedly. "Gee, someone sure is feeling modest today…"

Kurt continues to munch on his Cheerios to avoid smiling.

* * *

It's 1:40 when Kurt exits the library after saying goodbye to Mr. Gregory and heads in the direction of his last class of the school day: Spanish with Señora Berkley. He was really lucky to have only Sarah Berkley as his Spanish language teacher instead of being stuck with Schuester these past two years. Kurt remembers hearing many kids ranting in the hallways about how the man's teachings were crap back when he was a freshman. The halls are crowded again. Kurt smacks himself mentally for taking so long on the APUSH notes and not moving to the ground floor for Spanish sooner. Now he's going to be pushed around by these wild animals. After weaving through what could be the entire population of Rhode Island, Kurt is able to find the closest staircase.

He's on the first floor now. Passing conversations dance through his ears. A tall, bulky teenager forcefully slams Kurt into a row of lockers to move through the hallway more quickly, and the impact leaves Kurt's ears ringing and legs shaking, but the mutilated boy manages to stay up right. His blue-green-teal-gold mixed eyes look forward and see a football player donned in a red letterman jacket smirking at his pathetic frame before walking off. Kurt rolls his eyes and keeps moving towards his classroom. He has better things to do than picking a fight with a giant tub of lard.

In two minutes, Kurt is in his assigned seat in the front row. The room is stuffed with thirty other kids, most sophomores, others a grade or two older who absolutely need to pass this class to graduate on time. The room is decorated with flags from Spanish-speaking countries, posters, piñatas and a beautiful ofrenda. Kurt smiles once their charismatic, humorous language teacher enters the room, shuts the door and greets her students, "_¡Hola, clase!" _ The woman's voice is loud, clear, and charming.

"_¡Hola, Señora Berkley!_" is the immediate response of the Spanish 2B sixth period students, Kurt being one of the few students whose response is enthusiastic.

And so Kurt's favorite class begins.

They spend the class period doing various activities, saying the date in Spanish, singing "_Para tú amor_" while Señora goes around checking to see who did their homework, going over the homework, and doing various activities in their Spanish textbooks in their current chapter and taking notes on new grammar.

Kurt enjoys the class very much. Señora Berkley is his favorite teacher at McKinley. When the clock turns to 3:00 PM, Kurt packs up his books and pencils while at the same time double-checking that he has the homework written down. He bundles his Spanish materials in his arms and takes a minute to allow the other students to file out of the room by asking Señora Berkley a question about _Club de Español_. The woman has shoulder-length, light brown hair, hazel eyes and wears glasses. "_¿Sí, Kurt?_" Señora Berkley smiles at her best student-sadly, her only student this period who still has at least a 98% in the class, let alone an A. Kurt was lucky to have a name that is the same in Spanish as it is in English.

"_¿Cuándo es la próxima reunión del club de español?" _Kurt questions as fluently as he can. _(When is the next Spanish Club meeting?)_

"_La próxima reunión del club de español es la próxima semana, miércoles, despues de las clases._" (The next Spanish Club meeting is next week, Wednesday, after classes.)

"_Gracias, señora._" (Thank you, señora.)

"_De nada_." (It's nothing.)

Kurt leaves the room, glad to see that the amount of wild animals in the hallway has thinned somewhat. He goes to his locker on the first floor, grabs his coat, and puts away the books and binders he does not need for the night. He then treks goes out to the student parking lot and unlocks his black Chevrolet Equinox and drives back home, once again feeling grateful that he still has his right foot. Otherwise Kurt's ride would end up being far more jerky, since he would have not have been able to feel the pedal.

When Kurt arrives home at 3:17 PM like normal, he hears his mastiff barking in a way that to most would seem quite vehement, but the young male only knows the sound as excitement, if not loud. Kurt smiles wide when he unlocks the front door and, right after he slams it shut, gets attacked by a heavy mass of fur.

He winds up sitting on the floor, Hiero in his lap and attacking him with kisses and tail wags, and Kurt laughs with genuine happiness, glad to finally be home with his best friend after another unremarkable day. In this moment, he is home, he is safe, he is radiant, and he thinks everything will turn out OK.

* * *

**A/N: The Elizabethan Sonnet at the beginning is something I had to write for an AP Literature assignment. Speaking of that, I am taking 2 AP classes (Literature and World History), so I apologize to anyone who actually likes this fic at all if my updates are not very fast or predictable, but those are really important, tough classes. **_**Lethe**_** is a river in Greek mythology in Hades; it causes forgetfulness in those who drink from it. Mr. Ray Gregory's name was chosen due to "Ray" meaning "wise protector" and "Gregory" meaning "watchful, alert, vigilant." The reason behind his name will become more clear later on. Señora Berkley is inspired by one of the Spanish teachers at my school. His relationship with Ray will become more in-depth eventually. So, next chapter is B Side, Jack's chapter. I hope whoever has read this far is excited...or interested. :)**

**If you have enjoyed this chapter, please review, follow, and/or favorite. I know most people will not like this fic - probably resent it, even-but, still, it would be nice to know some people like it, or at least find this fic interesting. I know it will probably take a while before many people begin to understand this fic, though. :)**

**Thanks for reading!**

**- JMarieAllenPoe**


	3. Chapter Two: B Side

**A/N: Chapter Two! This one is for B Side, Jack's side story. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! I hope you are all doing well. At the time of writing this Author's Note (November 26...11:00PM) I have just seen Catching Fire! :D WOW THAT MOVIE WAS SO AMAZING! I am proud to say I was one of the few people to read the entire trilogy long before there was even a thought of the books turning into movies. So, in that sense, I am a total hipster. :P Or not. Whatever. It was a great film. Lots of action. If you want to leave a comment about that, go right ahead. ;)**

**- JMarieAllenPoe**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot and my OCs.**

* * *

_**A Side, B Side: The Oblivion Within My Heart**_

**Chapter Two: B Side**

_Dear Santa,_

_I know it is already December 22nd,_

_but I really really really want to change_

_my Christmas List this year. I hope_

_that is OK. If you already have the_

_presents wrapped, you should give_

_them to that nice man I would talk to_

_when Papa would take me with him to_

_the homeless shelter. That would_

_probably make him really happy._

_I want to change my presants, if it is_

_not too late. I don't want a fleece_

_blue blanket or a toy dragon or a book_

_or a purple sweater or a new lunch box._

_This year...And every year from now on,_

_I would really really really love for you to_

_bring Mama and Papa back. Bass said_

_they were sleeping under the ground and_

_going to live in with God...but I've never_

_gone to Church because Mama and Papa_

_said I can believe whatever I want and…_

_I'm really confused. Why won't they come_

_home? Why was I not allowed to go with_

_them? Please bring them home to me._

_Oh, and give that man at Papa's Helping_

_House my presents. He likes my drawings._

_Love, Jack_

* * *

Jack remembers waking up in a stiff, plastic chair, surrounded by the sterile, white walls of a monotonous hallway, and being assaulted by the harsh scent of anesthetics, air freshener and blood. He remembers silently enduring a stinging sensation in his neck from sleeping with his head against Bass's much larger torso. He remembers seeing the neon red lights that signal they are waiting just outside the ER. He remembers not knowing what time it was. He remembers feeling groggy and hungry. He remembers the moment that occurred right after his internal panic set in due to the fear that his parents left the hospital without taking him with them to go back home. He remembers seeing a tall male decked out in pale blue scrubs suddenly appear in his peripherals and the man asking if he could wake up his big brother. Jack doesn't remember waking up his sitter, just that he quickly winds up sitting alone along the row of uncomfortable chairs and that Bass and the doctor whisper back and forth a long distance away for several minutes.

Jack remembers witnessing the tear tracks covering Bass's cheeks and suddenly being in a bright, white room and holding his mother's cold, rigid hand, receiving no response from her. He does not remember ever registering their bruised, cut, broken bodies or the blood that covers the thin bed sheets. He remembers calling to his parents, telling them that he was there and that they could stop playing, stop sleeping. He remembers waiting for five minutes in silence, squeezing his unconscious mother's long fingers, running his thumb along her silver wedding and engagement rings. He remembers shaking his mother, and then his father, begging them to _wake up, wake up, WAKE UP!_

He doesn't remember when he began to cry and feebly beat against his father's chest. He remembers screaming as the nurses finally come in to cover their faces and Bass pulling him from the room. He remembers hitting Bass's knees and sobbing from the eternal confusion that seems to have covered him like a thick, black fog. He remembers feeling Bass's fingers in his brown hair. He remembers not being able to conjure up anymore salty tears. Jack remembers staying attached to Bass's leg, his left arm slung around the limb, while he stares at the crusty red stains that cover his petite right hand.

The next few memories and days and weeks blur together.

Jack knows he somehow winds up having most of his toys and clothes and toothbrush all appear in Bass's apartment, and he knows he keeps waking up in the guest bed every night from terrible nightmares and Bass would spend the rest of the night hugging him under the covers as he cried for his mama and papa. He knows he hasn't gone to school since Bass had pulled him out of class. Jack knows there was a day where Bass woke him up before the sun rose to help him bathe and dress him in a formal, black outfit and then Bass calling a taxi to take them to a church. He knows Bass never releases his hand.

Jack doesn't know why they are there for so long or where his parents are. He doesn't really hear anyone's words just feels random people pull him into suffocating hugs and crying all over his black coat. He doesn't know what's happening, just that his parents are in the two closed large wooden boxes and are suddenly being lowered into the ground in the cemetery behind the church he's never seen before. He feels numb and confused. At noon, it's only Jack and Bass who stay in the cemetery after the ceremony. Staring at the two marble gravestones, Jack begins to think his parents aren't coming home.

_Manuel Chandan Skinner_

"_The Best Is Yet To Come."_

_May 16, 1968 - December 5, 2002_

_Arden Isabella Skinner_

"_Hope Is A Waking Dream."_

_- Shakespeare, _As You Like It

_February 2, 1970 - December 5, 2002_

Jack remembers standing with Bass as a fresh batch of December snow began to fall, begging his friend to read the words to him over and over and over again. Jack remembers tracing the words, hoping that would increase his ability to recall them. He remembers his mama's collection of Shakespeare works in the library back home. He remembers his papa saying those six words to him when he got upset. He stares at the picture frame between the two graves that captures happy, uninjured, living faces. He wants to see them again. Why won't they come for him? Jack shivers as the bitter wind soaks through his black winter jacket. Bass holds his hand. An hour passes in silence since Bass refuses to read the words anymore, his sitter's voice having gone hoarse.

* * *

Manuel and Arden Skinner were in a terrible car accident on their way to a friend's house. They died in the ER; it had been too late to save them. Bass doesn't tell Jack this information, knowing the six-year-old will not yet understand the concept of death and knowing Bass himself is not yet ready to fully accept that such good family friends are out of his life forever.

* * *

It has been about ten days since the funeral, and Jack has just finished writing his new letter to Santa. He looks at the clock mounted high on the wall in the kitchen: 2:03 PM. Jack tries to think of something else to do, so he decides to go play out in the snow, hoping that cold will shock him out of this thick, black fog that still covers his small frame.

He scribbles a note to Bass on the back of an old Target magazine and slides it through the crack of his best friend's bedroom door.

He puts on his puffy, black winter coat, green gloves and a purple hat that was knitted for him by his late grandmother. He doesn't really know where she went, just that she disappeared last year in September. The exact date of her death was September 11, 2001. She died from falling debris during the 9/11 terrorist attacks. The memory of the funeral for her was a blur, considering it was to honor all the innocent lives stolen that day. He hopes Mama and Papa had finally found her. He hopes they will all be here for Christmas.

Jack closes the door to Bass's apartment and stares at the number on the door for a second: 513. Jack walks to the staircase at the opposite end of the hallway and climbs down to the ground floor. The apartment building was large and rundown, less than half the rooms were filled, and Bass and an old man were the only two living on the fifth floor. Jack guessed Bass's room was the nicest, and the biggest. In the 17 days that Jack has stayed here, he never once saw more than eight people in the building. Jack remembers Bass explaining that he was trying to save more money on college than were to live, which did not make sense to the six-year-old.

Just outside the apartment building, there is a small patch of grass that is now covered in white, fluffy snow. Jack gets on his hands and knees and starts making some snow people, not caring that his jeans are getting soaked. He ends up having to use a quarter of the snow that is in the yard to make a body that is to his liking. Grateful for the invention of winter clothes, he finishes the first snowman, aside from the face and arms, which reaches to his nose. He spends about ten minutes making a snow woman, which is just a few inches smaller compared to the snowman. Jack sneezes. He blinks for a moment, staring at the empty snow couple. He makes them a son, who, once finished, is half of Jack's full height. Jack stumbles upon a few sticks that had fallen from some of the nearby trees and separates them into six arms, two for each snow person. He finds some leaves on the steps of the apartment building and uses those for eyes. He takes off his right glove to engrave a straight line in the faces of the snow mother and snow father: their mouths. Jack squats so he is at eye level with the small snow son. He drags his index finger to form an upside down U-shape. Jack's heart aches.

"Why...Why are you said, Snow kid?" Jack asks the small pile of packed snow. "You're...with your sn-snow mama and snow p-papa. You're not all...alone."

No response.

Jack wants to cry, to have some external proof of the anguish that continues to gradually consume him, but the tears refuse to come. Jack is numb. He puts his right glove back on his hand.

The boy does a lot of thinking while he sits next to the family of snow. He thinks of his letter and what he wrote in it. He thinks of the homeless shelter his father founded long before Jack was born. The Helping House is a nonprofit, local organization meant to give free food, clothes and shelter to anyone who needs it. Jack would tag along with Papa on weekends and bring pictures for people, hoping his innocent art would brighten up someone's day. The organization has grown to be very popular in New York, and there are dozens upon dozens of people who are willing to volunteer and give donations. There was one man who Jack had grown rather attached to in his days of visiting the shelter. The man appeared at the shelter almost a year ago and looked to be in his late sixties. He was pretty quiet, like Jack. He usually sat alone and ate very little portions of the food that was served. Jack often would see the man give away his half-eaten bowl of soup or sandwich to a younger person who was without a home: the very thin teenage girl or the blind man or the woman who was constantly crying about her lost baby. Jack would sit with this man and talk about his week at school or a book Jack's mother had recently helped him read or how much fun it was to have Bass as his sitter (not babysitter - Jack refused to call himself a baby; he was already six). His tales would make the man smile. Last summer, Jack learned the man's name after talking to him for six months: Edgar. Jack wasn't given a surname, the man was just Edgar. Jack liked to give the man Edgar Allan Poe stories to occupy his time at The Helping House.

Bass never visited the shelter, so the six-year-old doubts he will be able to volunteer for a while.

Jack finds the smiling red-haired woman who approaches him dressed in a navy blue suit and gripping a briefcase to be unexpected.

* * *

She says her name is Skylar Hart, and she likes Jack's snow family, but wants to know why they look so sad.

"They pity me because they want Mama and Papa to come back home so we can be a family too."

Skylar Hart frowns for a moment but her kind grin quickly returns.

She says she needs to talk to Mr. Smith. Jack is confused for a moment before remembering Smith is Bass's last name. Jack invites her up to Bass's apartment. Skylar Hart nods and smiles, offering her hand for Jack to take to help him out of the snow. He smiles and accepts, remembering when his mama would do that. Jack continues to grip her hand while they head upstairs. When they are inside apartment 513, Bass is talking to someone on the phone.

"Yes…No, not today...sometime in January would be better, Belinda - hey! Yeah, sorry, I have to go. I'll call you back. _Hasta luego_." Bass hangs up.

Skylar Hart steps forward, left hand extended, and Bass shakes her hand while she says, "Hi, I'm Skylar Hart. I'm a lawyer and I have just found Manuel and Arden Skinner's conjoined will. We have things that need to be discussed."

Jack is sent to play while the two adults talk.

It is only when Jack takes his stuffed penguin to Bass's room to play on the nineteen year old's super comfy bed that the six-year-old sees the posters for NYU stuck to the walls and the college textbooks collecting dust on Bass's desk. It is only then that Jack remembers his mother telling him how he probably would have to get a new sitter because Bass was going to start attending his freshman year of college at New York University and would be too busy for little Jack. Now Jack wonders why Bass hasn't been in class for the past in almost three weeks. Then Jack feels stupid because he remembers it is now Holiday Break and _duh_.

After an hour, Bass tells Jack Ms. Hart needs to speak with him.

Jack finds himself sitting at the kitchen table, sharing the window seat with Bass and Skylar Hart sitting across from them, a stack of papers in front of him. Skylar Hart smiles reassuringly. "Jack," she starts, "do you know where your mom and dad are?" Jack scrunches his face up in thought.

"They...They are behind that church...and they are gonna come home soon. For Christmas...right?"

Skylar Hart shakes her head. "Sweetheart, your parents can't come home. They are in a better place now."

"They left me? Is that why they wouldn't wake up?"

Bass pipes up, "Yes, Jackie. Your parents are with your grandparents and my mom and dad."

"So, they're in...what's it called? Heaven?" Bass nods. "And they're happy?" Bass nods after a second. "Okay…"

"Jack, your parents left a will that has all the things they are leaving to you, and only you, for you to do with as you please."

Jack's eyes briefly regain their sparkle at the thought of keeping any of his parents' prized possessions. "Like what?"

"Almost everything: all the money they had, everything of theirs that is back at your apartment, their books and clothes and furniture and photographs...We'll go back to your home tomorrow to sort through all of their things that you want right away and what will go into storage."

"I'm not gonna live at home anymore?" Jack panics.

"No, sweetie." Skylar goes on to explain how the will states that Bass Smith is now Jack's legal guardian until his 18th birthday. Something Bass was never aware of until about a half hour ago.

"Why does _Bass_ have to take care of me?" There is no distaste present in Jack's voice, only confusion.

"In the will," begins Skylar, "your parents say Bass's father, who passed away about a year after you were born, was granted the honor of being your godfather, seeing how your two families have been close friends for years. Your father's parents both passed away before you were born. Your grandmother on your mother's side" - the woman's voice turns slightly hostile at this mouthful of words - " died last year in September. Your mother's father died overseas serving our country long before your mom and dad met." Skylar takes a breath, hoping her tone of voice does not sound cruel in Jack's ears. "Jack, both of your parents were only children; you have no aunts or uncles; Bass, being your god-brother, is the only one left in your family who can take care of you. Your parents believed Bass was a good man who has shown to be good at taking care of you from being your babysitter, so they chose him to be your legal guardian if anything were to happen to them and there was no one else left. They would hate for you to be put in foster care..."

There are two minutes of silence where the adults allow for the words to sink in. The first grader nods slowly, believing that speech makes sense.

A corner of Jack's mouth turns upright just slightly. "Is that okay with you, Bass?" the child asks, biting his lip, worried the only friend he has will not want to be burdened with him.

Bass exhales and grins, despite his tired, forest green eyes. "You gotta do what you gotta do, squirt," is all he says.

As the adults continue to talk about needed future preparations, the expression on Jack's pale face shifts to neutral, and he decides it would be better to not tell Bass about his letter, and ends up shoving the paper under his bed in the guest room...or his new room, as the adults keep up their conversation.

* * *

Jack has been home for two hours, but the ornate apartment that his mother could afford from working at the New York Times is slowly losing the familiarity it once had when Jack was living there his whole life. It's growing empty.

Bass is with him.

They are packing up everything so the boy can fully move in with his new guardian. Jack's spent the past four hours folding clothes and putting delicate china into boxes. The heat has been turned off; Jack is numb. Bass has moved dozens of boxes out to his car, and the rest might need to be put in Skylar Hart's. Ms. Hart decided to walk a block to a Pizza Hut and pick up an early dinner for the first grader. The yellow living room now has nothing that belonged to Jack or either of his parents. The photographs have all been taken down and put into cardboard boxes. The few Christmas decorations that had been set out at the start of December are somewhere in the trunk of Bass's car. Jack wanted to coach and television to be donated to his papa's Helping House project. All of the board games that had once been in the closet next to the laundry room and gone. Jack's bedroom, aside from the mattress and dresser, is completely barren, the only color being the purple walls.

The bathrooms are empty of pill bottles and cough syrup and cleaning supplies and shampoo and bath toys. Jack remembers a month ago: his mother scrubbing his brown locks of hair until they were nice and clean, listening as she read him another Edgar Allan Poe or Jane Austen or Shakespeare work. Sometimes she would put on some Disney music for him to listen to, since no one in the family had a talent for singing. Jack likes singing along to the tracks, but he knows he doesn't want to people to hear him sing when he is big and strong, like his papa says he will be if he eats his vegetables.

The bedroom that had been turned into a library is empty. The shelves, once were utterly packed with literary works, covered three of the six-foot walls. There are perhaps sixty boxes that are filled only with books. Jack loved this room.

Jack moves on to his parents' room.

Nothing has been touched yet. The bed is still not made on Papa's side. Mama's wooden jewelry box is open, a few bracelets still displayed on her white vanity. Jack can see the dust that is beginning to gather. Their walk-in closet door is open. All their clothes are in there. Jack sees the soft turtleneck that his father loved to wear so much. Jack remembers the last time his father wore that sweater.

* * *

_November 28, 2002. Thursday. Thanksgiving morning. Manuel and Arden wanted to show Jack how beautiful the Thanksgiving Day Parade was in person. They watched all the floats. The marching band was Jack's favorite. Jack holds his father's strong, tanned hand._

"_Papa!" Jack exclaims, pointing at the band members who play and march in sync._

_His father kneels down, grinning wide, "What is it, pumpkin kid?" The nickname came from Jack's obsession with _The Nightmare Before Christmas.

"_I-I want to do that!" Jack's grin grows wider as he listens to the band play._

"_You do, do ya?" Manuel picks up his son and puts him on his shoulders. Jack shouts in pure happiness. He can see the band better. He waves at the marchers, but they are solely focused on their performance. Jack clenches his fists around his father's soft turtleneck. Arden reaches up and lightly rubs Jack's back. They are happy._

* * *

That memory is nearly a month old. Jack tugs the navy turtleneck from its hanger and pulls it on over his head, the article of clothing acting more like a dress or a blanket due to his current height. Jack hopes he will someday grow into the sweater.

Jack works on gently packing away his mother's jewelry. He looks at each piece and tries to remember the last time he saw it on his mother before placing it back inside the wooden box. There is a carving of A.I.S. on the lid: her initials. She never told him where the box came from.

Jack spends a half hour carefully folding all the clothes in the closet and the dresser. Jack can't look at any of the mirrors in the room. He doesn't want to verify that he is alone in the room. He separates the clothes into boxes for Mama and boxes for Papa. Jack strips the bed sheets from the mattress and dumps them in the hallway. They are too big for Jack to fold.

Jack doesn't know where the laptops are. He remembers his parents both had one. The cover of his mama's laptop was red, his father's blue. Maybe they were both in the car. Mama would want him to get them for her. He's sprinting down the hallway, looking for her as he plans to go to the parking garage to get the laptops from the car. When he gets to the living room, he remembers.

Just boxes. Most of everything is gone. The car's gone. She's gone. He's gone.

Jack's alone. But he doesn't cry.

Bass and Skylar Hart are in the kitchen, going over paperwork and cleaning up the kitchen, throwing out bad food. Jack looks at them: they seem busy._ Don't be a bother_, Jack thinks. The boy goes back to his parents' room.

The brunette steps inside the closet to see if there is anything he missed, the light bulb overhead burning. He glances around, sees the chair he brought in so he could reach the hangers. Nothing. He packed away all their shoes and socks and pants and shirts and hats and -

Jack sees a box in the corner; the boy somehow missed that. He sits in front of it. The small box is covered in red and green wrapping paper, and there is a white bow: a present. He finds the tag, "To: Jack." He takes his time untying the ribbon and peeling off the tape that holds the Christmas paper together. He opens the cardboard box. There is a card on top of the tissue paper.

Jack shuts his eyes.

He can't breathe. He fists the lengthy, woven material of the turtleneck sleeves and pretends his parents are hugging him.

Jack opens the Christmas card with a picture of a snowman on the front:

_**Dear Jack the Pumpkin King,**_

_The best Christmas gift of all_

_is the presence of a happy family_

_all wrapped up with one another._

_**Merry Christmas, pumpkin!**_

_**We made this gift just for you.**_

_**Love Mama & Papa**_

Jack stares at the words; there is only one he can't understand - thanks to his parents teaching him to read before first grade - but he gets the idea. It feels like a slap in the face. Or a punch in the stomach. Or a deep, infected paper cut. The boy runs his index finger over his parents' bold penmanship. He puts the card back in its envelope and sets it on the carpeted floor.

The present is homemade. There are no plastic containers or price tags. Just a doll. A rag doll. And it looks like Sally. Red yarn-hair. Pale blue cloth for skin. Different patches of cloth for the dress. Large eyes. Stitches on the face, arms, legs. A kind smile.

It's beautiful.

Jack cradles the rag doll in his arms, staring at the gift in awe. His mama made this lovely friend just for him because of his newfound affection for _The NIghtmare Before Christmas_. He names her _Sally_, seeing how his name is Jack, and he vows to treasure this doll forever. She is all he has left.

When Jack wakes up two days from now, on Christmas morning, he doesn't look to see if Santa came until Bass wakes him up around 9:40. Instead he lays in bed, clutching his perfect gift to his chest, pretending Mama and Papa are with him and will protect him from the black, numbing fog that has begun to settle deep within his heart. As the boy has begun to understand, not all things are meant to be. Sometimes things change, and those changes can't always be protected.

* * *

**A/N: Wow! This chapter turned out to be a little longer than expected. (Dang, I wish I could write this many words per chapter for my 100% original stuff. I have nine chapters finished for that and only about 15,000 words. And I've been working on it for over a year.) I hope you liked Chapter Two! If so, or if you have a question, please leave a review! Even if you didn't like it, tell me why. Even if you are a Guest, I would love to know how I can improve!**

**In case you don't know what Jack's doll looks like, just search "Sally The Nightmare Before Christmas Homemade Doll"; you will get the idea. It is a really weird coincidence that the Thanksgiving Jack was remembering in this chapter is on the same day of the month (November 28th) as this year. If you understood the TNBC reference in the Jack's memory of his father's turtleneck, you are awesome. :)**

**Happy Thanksgiving!**

**D.F.T.B.A.**

**Best Wishes,**

**JMarieAllenPoe**


	4. Chapter Three: A Side

**A/N: Here is Chapter Three for A Side. :-D I really should be doing my homework right now, so be grateful!**

**As a reminder: this current arch, or time frame, of A Side is set near the end of Glee Season One, with this exact Chapter being set in "Theatricality." (The exact date/month might be off considering this fic is set in March 2013 at the moment, but that should not really change anything. This is still considered Season One.) However, since this fic is an AU, all Kurt-related Glee plot either does not include Kurt or never occurred because Kurt has never been in Glee Club.**

**Oh, and, by the way, **_**An Imperial Affliction **_**is not a real book (sadly); it is just a fictional part of John Green's **_**The Fault in Our Stars, **_**which I did not write, but for this fic, pretend it is real. And please go read TFIOS, even if you do not like this fic so far! It is a tragically brilliant masterpiece.**

**Also, I mean no disrespect to Cory Monteith by how Finn might be portrayed in this fic, but I have had this idea long before his death, and I will not alter my plans because of that. Sorry if that upsets anyone, but this is an AU.**

**Please review if you have a comment, a question, constructive criticism, or simply enjoyed the chapter. Feedback is much esteemed and appreciated. :-) Enjoy!**

**~ JMarieAllenPoe**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing except for my OCs and anything that I state is my writing (such as the poem in the first chapter); don't plagiarize me and I will not plagiarize you.**

**...as I read through half of this already, I realize I might want to put a warning:**

**WARNING: angst, bullying, homophobic slurs, curse words, phantom limb pain, a likely unexpected sexual orientation to most people.**

**You have been warned.**

* * *

_**A Side, B Side: The Oblivion Within My Heart**_

**Chapter Three: A Side**

Saturday morning, Kurt does not wake up to the sound of his beeping alarm clock or to birds chirping or to sunlight filling his room; instead, Kurt is driven back to consciousness by a gentle giant licking his face and barking happily, two furry limbs pawing at the male's mattress. Sitting up, he reaches over and rubs Hiero's head, taking in the beautiful tan fur of the mastiff. The boy yawns, "Hi, bud." Hiero barks.

Kurt blinks the sleep from his eyes and stares at the blurred mural on his wall in thought.

This past week of school proceeded like normal: Kurt got to school about twenty-five minutes before first period, walked up two loathsome flights of stairs before the stairways were too crowded, and arrived at his Creative Writing classroom. He then fought his way to the library for the next four of his courses and ate lunch with Mr. Ray Gregory. The sixteen-year-old then finished the school day with Spanish before going home, doing his homework and hanging out with Hiero before Burt got home from the garage, and they had dinner together.

Last night had been slightly different, however. Burt had invited his girlfriend, Carole Hudson, over for their special Friday Night Dinner again, which they had at Breadstix. Kurt had met the woman no more than a dozen times before, she has been over for dinner five other times, and he concluded Carole was a lovely person, despite only verbally responding to her twice.

Burt and Carole had first met in the middle of January when her car desperately needed an oil change. Burt had unconsciously charmed her will he worked on the SVU, and they went on a date a week later. They have been together for two months now, and Kurt knew his adoptive father was in love.

Kurt still misses Elizabeth. Burt's late wife had been very similar to his birth mother: both were kind and loving and happy and supportive. Elizabeth loved him like he was her own son. She would hug him just like his mother would before her unexpected passing. His heart aches at the thought of those two special women who are now buried six feet under the ground.

Elizabeth had died when Kurt was thirteen, three years ago. The cause had made Kurt despise certain norms within society.

Burt has told Kurt that his first wife will always be within his heart and his memory, and it is okay for people to love and be happy again, a message Mr. Hummel hopes Kurt takes to heart for himself as well. Kurt accepts Burt's relationship with Ms. Hudson, and he likes Carole, he tries to not see her as a replacement, but he does not trust her completely yet. Hiero is cautious of her.

Carole had brought her son to Friday Night Dinner last night, too.

Kurt does not know how to truly describe Finn. He is tall and very dense. Despite both of them attending McKinley and being in the same grade, they have only met at the times Finn and Carole came to Friday Night Dinners. Kurt recognized the boy's name from when he would hear it said in the halls and knows from posters that Finn is the quarterback of the football team, but Finn had absolutely no idea who Kurt was, or that they went to the same school, which is understandable: they went to different middle schools and have never had the same classes, seeing how Kurt spends most of this school year in the library and is advanced.

Usually when Finn comes for these dinners, Burt makes sure they are going out to a restaurant, which Kurt appreciates - he doesn't want strangers to come near his safe place, and Hiero would probably attack the boy.

It is very awkward around Finn. Kurt is not aware of the jock's morals or motives, so he chooses to stay silent and guarded in case the lengthy teen is judgemental or does stupid socialite things like underage drinking or other things that Kurt refuses to think about. His towering figure makes Kurt uncomfortable and brings back memories he has managed to store away for quite some time. Finn has only been in their house twice - and only on the first floor at that. He hasn't seen Hiero or Kurt's room. Yet.

There were a few instances where Burt would go spend time with Finn, baseball games and watching TV at Carole's house for a few hours, trying to get a feel for where the boy would stand with his son as a way to protect his adopted son. Finn talked about Glee Club a lot, so Burt was pretty sure the giant was gentle and could accept Kurt for who he was.

Sometimes during Friday Night Dinner, Kurt will catch the quarterback staring at his prosthetic leg, but Finn had only bluntly asked about it the first time they met - a lecture from Carole about not asking rude, private questions to someone you don't know well probably got that to stop - Kurt had not answered him, not verbally or in writing.

From Kurt's current observations, Finn cares about his mother a lot and might not be a horrible person, but Kurt don't trust the giant. He constantly stares at the jock when he is around out of fear of what Finn could do to him. He doesn't enjoy feeling scared.

Hiero barks and paws at Kurt's hand, returning the brunette back to the current moment.

The mutilated male glances at the alarm clock on his nightstand - 8:30 AM - and smiles.

"You wanna go for a walk, don't you, boy?" Kurt asks the mastiff. Hiero's tail wags, and the dog moves around the room in excitement. The teen hops, without the prosthetic, over to his dresser and puts on loose denim jeans, a random white T-shirt, and an old, yellow sweatshirt. After rolling up his pants to get on his prosthetic and half-heartedly running a brush through his messy, chestnut locks, he gets Hiero's leash, and the two head to the kitchen for breakfast before another walk around the neighborhood.

Hiero pulls Kurt quite a few more blocks away from home than expected for today, but he does not mind. They walk through the nearby park and down two more blocks. Kurt passes multiple houses as he tries to keep up with Hiero. He stops moving when two certain houses catches his attention. Hiero tries to tug the male further, but Kurt stands his ground, barely. The neighborhood Kurt is in is one Hiero pulls him down on occasion, and he has always seen two adjacent two-story houses that were for sale. Both seem to have been bought.

_Huh_, Kurt thinks, _maybe one of those houses will have an idiot socialite join McKinley's ranks and help their cause of producing people who will surely ruin society even further and get employed at McDonalds. JOY. Damn Ohio._

Kurt walks on, Hiero at his side, for another half hour before returning home.

* * *

Splish. Splish. Splish. Splish.

_Nothing can be seen except the white pain exploding from the furthest, most unreachable sector of his mind, expanding to every inch of his being, and a rippling effect is induced with every raindrop that comes in contact with his body._

Splish. Splish. Splish. Splish

_It hurts very much._

Splish. Splish. Splish. Splish.

* * *

"I'm sorry..._What?_" Kurt's raspy voice blurts out, astonished.

When Burt had come home from the garage that night with pizza boxes, chocolate milkshakes and the need to make an announcement, this was not what Kurt had been expecting. Kurt _thought_ Burt was going to tell him that Ray, who has worked weekends at Hummel's Tire and Lube for as long as Kurt has lived in Lima, Ohio and has been the school's librarian for three years, finally proposed to his girlfriend, Sophie, _or_ that Ray was very upset with the ending of _An Imperial Affliction_ - even though Kurt got his text messages an hour ago

(4:02 PM: "Tell me your copy of this book is missing the final fifty pages or something phenomenal like that." 4:10 PM: "Oblivion, tell me this book is not done." 4:11 PM: "OH MY GOD WHAT HAPPENS TO EVERYONE DO THEY END UP MARRIED OR NOT OH MY GOD WHAT ABOUT THE HAMSTRR WHAT IS GOING ON I DON'T UNDERSTAND OJ MY GOD WHAT IS THIS LIFE I CAN'T EVEN AGH WHAT IS THIS" 4:50 PM: "Kurt Hummel, you are a sick despot for suggesting this book to me. How could you? I thought we were friends, man. I'm guessing Anna" - the main character - "died at the end or became too sick to write because of the cancer so the book just ends? AWFUL. If I suggested this to Sophie she would break up with me for sure. Tell Hiero I say hello." Kurt's only response had been a correction of grammar and a smiley face.)

They had settled in the livingroom, planning to start _The Pianist_, a brilliantly sad movie about a pianist during the Holocaust, while they ate dinner, Hiero and Kurt on the couch and Burt in his armchair, when the young male's adoptive father had spoken up, seconds ago. Burt repeats himself, only this time his grin is faltering: "I asked Carole if she and Finn would move in with us."

Kurt is stunned. _But...Burt and Carole haven't been together three _months_! Why are they moving so fast?_ He takes a deep breath. "I...Um...O-Okay?"

"Would this be okay with you, kiddo?" Burt asks, serious about taking Kurt's next answer to heart.

"I-I guess so? This is just - so _unexpected_. Why so soon?"

Kurt watches as Burt's expression turns blissful. "I want us all to be a family. I love her, Kurt. So much."

"So...you're happy. She makes you happy." Burt nods. "And you won't forget Elizabeth?"

"I never will, kid. She was my first love."

A gentle grin comes to the young boy's face. He knows Burt still holds Elizabeth's memory deep within his heart, so he isn't worried about that. Kurt's worried about Finn. He hasn't made a complete assessment of the bulky teen yet; he doesn't trust him yet. _But if Burt is really happy with Carole..._"Th-Then that's good; I think we should do it."

Burt smiles wide, "Really, Kurt?"

"Yeah. Maybe...Maybe Finn and I can become friends, find something in common." Kurt shrugs.

"That's great, son! I'll let Carole know we have your blessing so we can tell Finn. But if anything wrong happens, don't hesitate to tell me." Burt's tone is serious; the young boy seated before him will always be his first priority. Kurt hopes nothing bad happens. He wants to allow Burt happiness. The man deserves that much after dealing with the endless baggage Kurt carries around with him.

"I think we'll be fine." Kurt pauses, a thought coming to mind as Hiero snuggles his furry head into the boy's lap. "But I'm not responsible if Hiero eats Finn."

* * *

Finn Hudson is not the brightest person, and he can be very oblivious, but he knew Kurt Hummel was weird...even though there was a lot of stuff he didn't know about the kid.

Let's see what Finn did know (most of which he learned from Carole):

1. Kurt was Burt's adopted son.

2. Kurt was REALLY quiet - Finn had only heard his voice once - it was scratchy and soft at the same time.

3. Kurt spends almost all of his time at school in the library doing online classes.

4. Kurt had a fake leg, and Finn was not allowed to ask about it.

5. Kurt was not in Glee Club. Since he spent all day in the library, maybe he didn't know about it?

6. Kurt liked to read - he always had a book in his lap during dinner, even if they were at Breadstix, which was odd.

7. Kurt would constantly stare at Finn when he came to those Friday dinners.

8. Kurt staring at Finn all the time was creepy, and Finn did not like it one bit.

Finn Hudson was not gay. He loved Qu-_Rachel_! He was in love with Rachel and was very jealous of Jesse. The Glee Club had attracted a lot of minorities, and everyone accepted each other, but everyone in the club was straight. That had to say something about gays, right? That's one of the things the other guys on the football team would say. "At least no one in Gleek Club was actually a faggot." They called each other fags when a play went wrong or someone wasn't getting up fast enough. Most of the kids in Glee Club, like Puck, Santana, Quinn and Brittany often made jokes and comments about gays - so that behavior had to be fine if his friends were involved.

Kurt stared at Finn a lot. The crippled boy never made eye contact, but Finn saw an emotion he couldn't quite place inside the boy's weird eyes. It made Finn very uncomfortable. He was straight. He didn't need boys lusting after him, even if the quarterback believed himself to be very attractive. Maybe if Kurt was a girl, Finn wouldn't be so uncomfortable, but Kurt was a boy so that was totally wrong.

So, there's a chance Kurt was gay. He didn't really dress like one, aside from that weird "Okay? Okay." hoodie Kurt wore that seemed kinda girly, and Finn didn't know if his voice was high pitched due to only hearing it once, but he was still a creepy dude for staring at him all the time. Finn would bring up Rachel or Quinn or any of the other Glee girls when he was around Kurt at dinner to try and say he was straight without having to say he was straight. Not gay. He liked boobs and really wanted to touch some. He wasn't a cocksucker.

Sunday night, he got home from an unexpected basketball practice and saw his mom, Burt and Kurt all sitting in the livingroom, Burt in his dad's old chair - Finn gave him permission to sit there a month ago. Kurt had a small smile as he looked at Burt. What was Kurt doing here? Was the cripple in his room?!

The adults had shouted, "SURPRISE, FINN!" and that was when Finn noticed the boxes by the door and the snacks on the coffee table. They had explained that Finn and his mom would be moving in with the Hummels so they could be a nice, happy family.

Oh no! What if Kurt suggested this to his dad so Finn would have to live under the same roof as him? What would he do now? He can't get dressed in front of a gay guy. He can't.

Maybe if he knew who Kurt was before Burt and Carole got serious, he would have tried to have Kurt help break them up, but he liked seeing his mom with Burt. He made her so happy. He wasn't like her old boyfriends; Burt was an awesome guy.

Finn and his mother were moving into their house on Wednesday, and Carole already had most of their stuff packed.

Finn put on a smile and tried to be happy for the couple.

"Finn," Burt said, "we have more room at our house, but you and Kurt will need to share a room for a while." That got Finn mentally screaming and wanting to go hide from the crippled boy.

Kurt slowly walked up to Finn and handed a giant a piece of paper before quickly returning to his seat. It was written in purple sharpie.

_I'll try to redecorate our room before you come to make you more comfortable._

Finn shivered and sent Kurt a hesitant smile, knowing he would have to put his underwear on in the shower when shorter male was around.

_This is just _great, Finn thinks, _I already get enough crap for being in Glee Club. I hope Kurt stays in the closet if anyone ever finds out we are roommates._

* * *

The sight Kurt sees Monday morning while he is at his locker putting his coat away is very bizarre, and, for a horrifying instant, a spike of panic pierces the maimed sixteen-year-old boy's heart as he thinks someone must have secretly drugged him when that overweight African American football player and his gargantuan friend shoved him into a freshman's open locker minutes ago. He sees three girls in the most grotesque articles of clothing he has ever seen in his life, and he normally could care less about fashion - he likes loose, denim jeans, sneakers, tees and sweatshirts that fit him.

A young asian girl was wearing a...dress(?) with...bubbles? A dark skinned, curvy girl wore a purple wig and an...oddly shaped, silver dress. The tall blonde girl had a silver lobster on her head! Kurt was immensely confused. He closes his locker shut and is about to walk away from the women as fast as he can, but then he sees those blockheads from two minutes ago slam the asian girl, whose hair is either dyed blonde or a wig is on her head, into the other two, and they all plow into the row of lockers about six feet from where Kurt is standing, and they all visibly cringe and exhale protests at the popular jerks.

Kurt is not one for confrontation. He likes the background. He spends most of his school days in the library. His best friends are his adoptive father, a librarian/part-time mechanic and a giant, loud, loveable, overprotective canine. His voice is naturally raspy and quiet and hoarse, which is why he usually chooses to be mute. Almost _every - single - time_ he speaks to someone who is standing right next to him, they respond with _What?...Sorry, I can't hear you…What?...Say that again?...What?_ It's better to write something down and shove the words in their face. He is terrified of people he does not trust. He does not trust those athletes one bit.

He hates bullies, especially when they bully innocent, albeit oddly dressed, people, but he isn't the confronting type.

"Hey!" Kurt shouts harsely, his voice only managing to carry at what is considered a normal volume for anyone else. He interrupts the fire of insults the two males are delivering about the girls' clothing. "What do you think you're doing? Don't go around pushing people, especially girls! Leave them alone!"

The girls glance between Kurt and the football players, and the two tormentors stare at the brunette in confusion. They don't acknowledge Kurt's words.

"Ya' have any idea who this is, Karofsky?" asks the fat African American, irritated.

Kurt recognizes the white skinned Tub of Lard: he's the same dumb jock that shoved him last week and smirked at his pain. Both hulking males send looks of disgust his way.

"No idea, Azimio." Karofsky takes a step towards Kurt, and in that moment the three girls hurry down the hallway without a word and disappear around the corner. The two jocks either don't care or don't notice. Karofsky cracks a humored smile, "He's a cripple, though. Check out his fucking leg."

Azimio glances down at Kurt's shoes and notices the metal ankle that can't be hidden by his pants. "Awe, man, what a freak," he laughs. "And what's with the girly sweatshirt...ladyboy?"

Kurt stops breathing for a second, flinches in disbelief. He looks down at the blue TFIOS Okay Pullover Hoodie that Burt got him for Christmas. The homophobic slur has most of the people in the hallway staring immediately. There are no out people at McKinley, _everyone_ is thought to be as straight as a pole, and nearly everyone is homophobic. This is Ohio. _I'm not gay!_ Kurt screams in his mind, _I-It's different…_

It truly is. No one here would understand.

He's gone mute again. Kurt spins on his heel and runs to his first period, tripping multiple times on the two staircases he has to climb and just due to his natural clumsiness. He vows to spend the next few hours only focusing on work and not the panic flowing through his blood. His heart aches against his chest, but no tears come. He wept them all away years ago.

* * *

During school on Wednesday, Burt and Carole had moved all of the Hudson possessions into the Hummel home. Kurt got home earlier than Finn, the latter having Glee Club, which Kurt didn't know much about, just that it had to do with singing and that the oddly dressed girls he had tried to defend on Monday were apart of the group.

Burt and Carole were able to get Finn's twin bed into Kurt's room, and the brunette worked on finishing the limited redecorating he could do. The quarterback's bed was moved against the mural, opposite Kurt's own bed, until the two could decide a better setup for all the furniture.

Yesterday, Kurt and Burt spent an hour hanging up a layer of wall shelves on each of the Robin Egg colored walls to allow for Finn to have more space for video games or CDs, whatever he wanted. Kurt knew Finn was probably a heavy gamer, so maybe they could get a TV for the room. Finn's bed looked cold with the new, plain white bedsheets and the old quilt, so Kurt got a floral printed fleece blanket from the utility closet in the hallway and draped it over Finn's bed. The soft cloth had belonged to Elizabeth, and it was pretty feminine in design, but hopefully Finn would just care about the warmth it provided.

The blue walls still looked bland, so Kurt went down to the basement in search of something interesting to hang up. The basement was fairly big, and Burt once suggested Kurt moving down there if he wanted more privacy, but Kurt liked the room he's had since moving in with Burt and Elizabeth years ago. He loved the mural. All that was in the basement were boxes, decorations, and old furniture, most of which belonged to Elizabeth before her passing. Kurt thought it would be cool to have some extra lighting aside from just the two lamps and the overhead fan, so he grabbed a string of Christmas lights and hung them up using the new shelves as support. He also found two framed pictures of art his birth mother had done, one a simple black treble cleft surrounded by a white backdrop, the other was a painting of weathered sheet music for the song, "Blow, Blow, Thou Winter WInd," which was a part of a Shakespeare's _As You Like It_; a copy of the play rested in Kurt's bookshelf. He had rested those paintings on one of the shelves in his room, wanting to have a piece of his late mother close at hand.

Now it was 8:30. Carole wanted the redecorated room to be a surprise for after dinner, so the lengthy teen has not entered the second story bedroom yet. Kurt had said three sentences to Finn at dinner. The topics of conversation are extraneous, but he did speak to the scary giant, even if his voice was as raspy and hard to understand as ever.

Burt and Carole had volunteered to do the dishes, and Hiero was likely hogging the couch in the livingroom.

Kurt tries to remember the speech he prepared to in order to not go mute as he leads Finn into their blackened chamber: "I-I couldn't do much with such little time, but I hope you can...g-grow to like it and...add to the room." He switches on the light, and the room escapes darkness. "C-Consider it a peace offering after...after how awkward our Friday Night Dinners have been...I like to think it's a way we can start our friendship…"

Finn takes a step towards the middle of the room, turning in a few circles to get a feel for the room shaded in blue. His eyes flicker to many different parts, and Kurt hopes he likes the room that has belonged to him for so many years.

The jock turns to face Kurt, who has left the door slightly ajar and moved to a just one the Christmas lights, and stares at him in revulsion. "Are you freakin' insane? I can't live here - I'm a _dude_. Th-This room is all girly and flamboyant" - Finn points at the mural - "and -"

The sound of Hiero's rambunctious barking is heard five seconds before the large mastiff pushes past the wooden barrier and attempts to trample Finn, the dog's teeth gnashing in hostile protection. Finn stands on his bed in cowardice as a way to distance himself from the dog.

Hiero's barks are loud, and Finn is greatly annoyed, "Dang dog. He's been trying to attack me since I got here!"

Kurt signs at his protective pet's antics. "Don't worry, I'll calm him down." Kurt sits by Hiero's side and begins to rub the mastiff's fur, trying to catch the canine's attention. "Shh...Hiero, shush, boy. It's It's okay. I'm okay, bud." Hiero seems to forgets about Finn and allows his master to give him a belly rub. After a minute, Kurt stops, and Hiero moves to lay on Kurt's bed, shutting his sagelike eyes.

The room is silent as Finn gets his feet back to the carpet and looks around some more.

"What the hell is _that_ supposed to be?" Finn gestures towards the white, metal screen leaning against the closet.

"It...It's a privacy partition," the mutilated male explains weakly. "It's the only one I could find on such short notice. Why are you getting angry about everything?" The teen's voice shifts to defencive. "That mural was painted by Elizabeth. I'm trying to welcome you."

Finn's voice gradually grows in rage. "It's not a privacy partition! Why is it so hard for you to understand? I don't want to get dressed in front of you. You know that I put my underwear on in the shower before I come out when you're around? I just, I don't wanna worry about that kind of stuff in my own room, man."

"Th-This privacy partition is for _me_, so you don't look at me!" Kurt confesses, a foreign wetness forming against his eyes. "If anything, _I'm_ the one who can't handle getting dressed in front of you!" Finn could never understand. No one would. The shorter brunette pauses, "And what _stuff_ are you referring to?" Kurt attempts to raise his voice.

Finn walks closer to Kurt, pointing an accusing finger. "You know. You know what I'm talking about, don't play dumb. Why can't you just accept that I'm not_ like_ you?" The tall male waves his hands in exasperation.

"What are you even _talking_ about?" demands Kurt.

"You're gay,"

"I…" Kurt flinches as the panic from Monday returns to his bloodstream. "I'm not _straight_," Kurt says in agreement. "But I'm not gay, either."

"Don't lie. That makes no sense. You think I don't see the way you stare at me? How dark your eyes get?"

_He must be referring to when I would look at him throughout dinner to make sure he never tried to attack me_, Kurt concludes quickly. Animosity enters his voice when he says, "That is not lust. _ That's fear, idiot! _Trust me: I am by no means attracted to you whatsoever! Why do you think I don't talk to you? You _petrify_ me!

Finn ignores his words. "You think I don't know why you got so anxious that we were gonna be moving in together?" Hiero hopes off Kurt's bed and darts out of the room, barking loudly. Neither Finn or Kurt allow that to interrupt their argument. "You have a sick crush on me!"

Kurt has had enough, a sole tear escaping his eye. _Dammit!_ The thin boy whips at his face. "_It's just a room, Finn. We can redecorate it if you want to!" _Kurt clutches at the fabric of his sweatshirt.

"Okay. Good." Finn moves around the room, looking for something. "Well, then THE FIRST THING THAT NEEDS TO GO IS THAT FAGGY BLANKET." He throws Elizabeth's blanket to the floor and steps on it as he keeps moving. He kicks Hiero's dog bed across the room - the object knocking against Kurt's prosthetic - as he says, "A-AND THEN WE NEED TO GET RID OF THIS FAGGY DOG BASKET-"

"HEY!" And then Burt is standing in the doorway, Hiero growling in the hall. He enters the room and stares at Finn. The man points at Kurt. "What did you just call him?"

The quarterback realizes he's in trouble and tries to back peddle. "Oh, no no, I didn't call him anything, I was just talking to the basket." Finn gestured to the tipped over dog bed on the floor.

Burt shakes his head. "Y-You use that word, you're talking about him."

"Relax, Burt, I didn't take it that way," Kurt interjects, not wanting Finn to hate him more by getting him in trouble.

Eyes still locked on Finn, Burt states, "Yeah, that's because you're sixteen, and you still want to assume the best in people. You live a few years, you can't help seeing the hate in peoples' hearts. Even the best people." He speaks to Finn, demanding. "You use the N-word?

Finn stutters. "O-Of course not -"

"Yeah, how 'bout 'retard'? You call that nice girl on the Cheerios, you call her a retard?"

"Becky? N-No - she's my friend - she's got Down Syndrome, but I'd never call her that, that's cruel." Kurt doesn't personally know who they are talking about, but he's heard of Becky.

"Do you use 'cripple' to talk about my son or that boy in the wheelchair?"

"No...Artie's a nice guy -"

"But you think it's okay to come in _my_ house - and say, 'faggy'?" Kurt's adoptive father asks in disbelief, never removing his eyes from Finn.

"But - th-that's not what I meant -"

"I KNOW WHAT YOU MEANT," Burt yells. "What, you think I didn't use that word when I was your age? You know, some-some kid gets clocked in practice, we tell him, 'Stop being such a fag. Shake it off!'" Kurt flinches. "We meant it exactly the way _you _meant it...That not being straight is wrong, and it's some kind of punishable offence…

"I really thought you were different, Finn. Ya know, I thought that being in that Glee Club, and being raised by _your_ mom, meant that you were some, you know, new generation of dude, who saw things differently, who just kind of came into the world _knowing_ what has taken me years of struggling to figure out...I guess I was wrong…" Burt hears the sniffling occurring behind him, and knows his son is trying not to break down again. The anger leaves his voice and all that's left is protectiveness and disappointment. "I'm sorry, Finn. You can't - you can't stay here."

Kurt glances up at his father in shock, his throat clogged with grief. "Burt…" The man does not acknowledge the sound of his name.

"I love your mom, and maybe this is gonna cost me her, but my family comes first. I can't allow that kind of poison around. Not again." For the first time in minutes, Burt looks at his son and adresse him, "This is our _home_, Kurt." He turns back to Finn, pointing at the small, maimed boy close to tears. "He is my _son_. Out in the world, you do what you want. Not under my roof…"

Finn gapes for a few seconds before hurrying out of the room, Hiero growling at the ignorant tree.

The room is silent as Kurt sits on his bed, tears not yet falling. The broken sixteen-year-old tries to escape the self loathing, feeling as though he has now completely destroyed his adoptive father's chance at happiness. Burt pats his child's head, further messing up the boy's locks of hair. He looks Kurt in the eye as he states with a clogged throat: "You matter more that my relationship with Carole. I love you, kid. The place looks great." Burt heads downstairs to have Hiero comfort his master and hopefully stop the tears from falling and to do damage control with Carole. No one is ever hurting his son again. Burt refuses to tolerate any kind of hateful, ignorant bigot living in his home.

His son's too important.

* * *

The summer of Kurt's fourteenth year, the boy realized something that brought him to tears and disgusted him to no end: he was different.

It was nothing new, actually. He just suddenly noticed the differences in himself compared to all of his classmates. The differences that didn't include his muteness or his leg or the trauma that had been hidden in the back of his mind.

He would constantly hear his male classmates talk about girls and breast size, and Kurt tuned them out in discomfort. He has never kissed a girl, and he wasn't having dreams about girls like all the other guys were. He's never had a crush on a girl - all the girls at school either avoided him or were horrible human beings.

Kurt was different.

Whenever the mutilated teen had special dreams, they were nightmares, nightmares about the past. He's never had a crush on a guy before, either, like the girls did, for the same reason. When Kurt sees a socially considered attractive person, male or female, his mind notes that they are good looking, but Kurt doesn't get excited anywhere - he couldn't care less about a person's exterior.

Kurt was different.

He tried searching online for all the different types of sexuality. When he saw transgender and gender fluid, he accepted them willingly and both made sense to him, even though Kurt knew he himself was a male. He wouldn't care if he met a person who was trans or genderqueer, if they had a good heart and mind, Kurt would be happy to stand by them.

Kurt was different.

Kurt's never touched himself at night or experimented or looked up porn or had an erection or felt physically attracted to anyone. All he wanted was someone, male or female or anything in between, who was kind and smart and honest and loving and good. And he did not want sex. He was content to daydream about being in someone's loving embrace and whispering sweet nothings to each other and holding hands and having a pure love that would last and sharing sweet, innocent, loving kisses. Kurt knew from health classes the consequences of any type of sexual activity, and that only strengthened his resolve to stay abstinent for the rest of his life. He knew sex was something that could never make him happy, no matter who it was with. He couldn't help but be repulsed by the thought of the physical act. All his life, he would never want it.

Kurt was different.

When he discovered this a late August night, he burst into tears and rushed to the bathroom to vomit, knowing he was broken beyond repair on some level. Hiero sat by the sink, whimpering for the pain within his master's heart to finally disappear forever. For about a week, his stump had been feeling very irritated whenever he had to wear his fake leg. It was a gradual pain, but he had been able to ignore aches. This mental ache wasn't helping.

If the room had not been masked by midnight shadows, Kurt would have noticed that he was coughing up blood.

It wasn't just his leg that was messed up, it was his mind and the rest of his body as well. He had screamed in despair and searched for something to end the flashes of memory that covered his vision as his stump pulsed with a pain that was far worse than anything Kurt had ever felt. Tears fled from the boy's multicolored eyes and seeped into the fabric of his pajama shirt. It was a pain that took up all thought and made Kurt beg for death. Kurt couldn't find anything that could stop the pain or the blinding flashes in front of his eyes - he was too panicked.

_IT...IT BURNED! His stump was burning! What was HAPPENING?_

He tore the prosthetic away from his pathetic form and threw it against the door in a sudden _BANG! _Kurt flinched. He clutched at the air where his metal replacement was moments ago, in too much pain to wonder _why_ the worse pain he would ever feel in his entire existence was occurring in a spot that was no longer attached to him.

Burt had stumbled into the bathroom with a wooden bat in hand, turned on the light and found his son sitting in the porcelain tub, green pajamas drenched in sweat. Kurt's torchured sounds only increased as the lighting made the pain _even worse_, so Burt quickly returned the room to darkness. Shouting the young boy's name, he climbed into the tub and tried to get him out.

Kurt remembers bits and pieces: the pain had been maddening, Burt had held him and tried to get the teen to swallow the medication he has forgotten to take several hours ago, Hiero tried to lick away his tears, he was yelling apologies to his mother and father and Burt and Elizabeth for being different and having the life he had, saying he wished he could change everything, but he didn't want girls or boys or sex, just love, only love forever, he was sorry, he was sorry, he was sorry, please forgive him, sorry, who was he, what was he, the pain hurt, it hurt, make it stop, why him, why the boy with the broken shards stapled together, why not the monsters in the hidden memory boxes of his mind, why was he alive with this torturing agony? There was darkness and silence, and the pain was gone, and Kurt saw his deceased father and mother again, and he woke up in Burt's bed with Hiero beside him.

The blood had been from biting his tongue. The agony in his leg: phantom limb pain.

Burt didn't go to work in the morning. He scheduled a doctor's appointment to get Kurt's prosthetic adjusted, hoping that was the cause of the problem. (It was.) Being able to decode some of the boy's miserable ramblings, Burt did some research, too.

The man showed what he found to Kurt the next night, after he had somewhat calmed down thanks to more sleep, the disc they had of the _Nightmare Before Christmas_, and Hiero's protective presence. The music always had the power to calm the young teen, as did his best friend.

After Kurt's possible orientation was uncoded, the amputated boy cried for an hour, disgusted that he wasn't normal. However, Burt said he loved him no matter what, and he would always fight for him, and Kurt was his son, and his parents would always love him no matter where they were, and his mother and father were _so proud_ of Kurt for still breathing and not giving up yet, _Burt_ was proud to have him as a son, and Kurt had to keep moving forward, for it was okay - because this just meant he was open enough to fall in love with someone's mind and not their body. Kurt was not a shallow person. He was not dirty or defective. He was going to be_ fine._ He _mattered._

Kurt accepted something that summer: he was a panromantic asexual.

* * *

**A/N: And that marks Chapter Three! Sorry for the long wait, people who actually enjoy this story, but I had a hard case of writer's block and was focusing on school - still am, so my next update is unknown, but will eventually come. I am genuinely surprised with how long this chapter became. I think this is the longest so far...At this rate, the epilogue will be 100,000 words. :P **

**WHY CAN'T MY BOOK BE THIS EASY TO WRITE? :-/**

**Please tell me: What do you think the best chapter length is? What's too long? What's too short?**

**I'm not sure if I made the Kurt/Finn bedroom scene as good as it could be...it was really hard to write, so I borrowed some lines from the actual episode. I feel like I didn't do it justice. If you have any suggestions for how I can fix this, I would love to hear your constructive criticism.**

**I hope you enjoyed this chapter. If you are curious about the text messages Ray sent Kurt, look up TFIOS by John Green. Ray's text messages where inspired by TFIOS; I do not claim to own the gist behind them.**

**You can easily find Kurt's hoodie by Googling: "TFIOS Okay Pullover Hoodie." It is actually ironic that Azimio and Finn find Kurt's hoodie to be girly because the model in most of the pictures is a muscular male. It's advertised as a guy's hoodie**

**In this **_**AU**_**, Kurt is a panromantic asexual. As said above, that means he can fall in love with any human being, no matter what their gender is, because he feels ZERO sexual attraction or desire. All Kurt desires is love. No lust. Just genuine love and romance. There is no smut in this fic. Don't like that? That's fine. Go read something else. But you might want to stick around, or read this fic whenever it is finished, because everything will make sense in the long run. I promise you that. :-) Or you could just read B Side. That is perfectly fine, as well.**

**Do you think my Finn was OOC at all? Since Kurt was never in Glee Club, or out, all the Glee Club members would surely have different attitudes towards People Who Are Not Straight, considering they never learned how to accept it/tolerate it. Sad, but realistic, I think.**

**Reviews are VERY appreciated. It's nice to know I am writing this fic for someone and that it is not a waste. Brings up the self-esteem, you know? Constructive criticism is very helpful and taken into consideration. Feel free to leave suggestions or thoughts on what you think will happen next; that might help my writer's block, and not every single detail of my plot line is set in stone - or even known - yet, so you could influence something.**

**Because I failed to post this chapter earlier:**

**MERRY NEW YEAR! (If you understand that reference, you are an really cool person. ;))**

**Thank you for at least reading this much of my fic. I applaud you for that. Thank you.**

**- JMarieAllenPoe**


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